Bite To Eat
by KeiGinya
Summary: After narrowly escaping death only to unwittingly run into the most notorious nosferatu, Alucard, Hermione is no longer human, struggling over becoming a monster and running away from her fate. All the while, the Second Wizarding War approaches...
1. All Good is Lost

**Disclaimer:** Hermione's complete animal/creature bait (troll, basilisk, werewolf, giant, etc.), didja think I could have resisted this idea? And I can't be the first to parallel the stuff pureblood spouts as very vampire-y. If I owned Alucard… I'm just glad the temptation's not there. In other words, I do not own Harry Potter or Hellsing.

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><p><strong>Bite To Eat<strong>

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><p>It was quiet throughout Hogwart's Castle, the dead of the night, when even ghosts and villains were idle. In one of its towers, where the Gryffindor dormitories were located, the sandman had no hold on one individual.<p>

Empty of light other than a faint glow whose origins remained mysterious but was obviously done through magic, the girls' communal bathroom was equally silent except for the slow drip-drop of a recently used sink.

A damp hand remained on the cold water tap, its owner staring at her reflection as the squeak of the metal echoed in her ear. Stiffly, her fingers unlatched themselves and moved to tuck an errant curl out of recently dampened face.

The reflection of Hermione Granger, muggle-born witch stared back. English rose complexion forever marred by unruly curls that tended to frizz because she had an incurable habit of touching her hair; her lower lip didn't look irritated from biting (another bad habit she had managed to beat out of necessity), her eyebrows thick and well-arched, and her eyes were a plain, nondescript brown.

Hermione let out a shaky breath, ducking her head down and hands gripping the lip of the sink.

A minute passed where the fourteen year old seemed to have a fight within herself before stilling.

Loosening her hold on the white ceramic before altogether letting her arms drop outside the sink, Hermione slowly looked into the mirror again and reached her hands up, toward her face.

Her left hand kept her right eye open while her other hand plucked off the lens with thumb and forefinger before depositing it on the waiting container on the shelf above the taps. Repeating the procedure with her other eye, Hermione didn't look at her reflection until the container was closed and her hands rinsed off.

A stranger stared back.

A monster's image reflected.

For Hermione Granger, muggle-born witch, never had blood-red eyes.

The monster shuddered the same time she did, a bitter smile appeared on their face – her face – as she finally acknowledged her permanent condition.

"Happy birthday, Hermione," she muttered, "You're fourteen forever."

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><p>August 21st, 1994<p>

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><p>Hermione thought divination was rubbish and had doubts of fate and destiny even though she had witnessed Trelawney's prophecy coming true that night a few months ago, but the girl had a gut feeling she had <em>very<em> bad luck today. Luck, chance, fate, destiny…

The fourteen year old witch just knew that Walden Macnair had forcefully side-along apparated her to this dank alleyway to kill her like he had been unable to do to Buckbeak when an _armed mugger _appeared to rob them.

Her head was still reeling, the girl having an unfortunate habit of freezing in critical situations. She had been literally grabbed as soon as she left Diagon Alley with a bag of books from Flourish and Blotts, somehow losing her purchase along the way to some corner of London she hadn't been to before.

Macnair had revealed himself as her kidnapper, along with telling her _why _he did so, which could be summarily contained in a sentence: he knew Hermione was the reason Buckbeak became freed so she could stand in the hippogriff's place since a 'mudblood' was no better than a 'bloody stupid beast'.

He had just ended his tirade of calling her demeaning and beyond insulting words and phrases when the mugger came and demanded their money and valuables.

She hated to think it but this didn't happen to her! Harry was the one who got into life-threatening situations. The younger Weasleys were the ones who got nabbed. Hermione was the one who solved riddles and became a tempting target of a dangerous magical monster (twice)!

Now, neither Macnair nor the mugger looked like a basilisk or werewolf, did they?

"Oi, tha' means give me y'r purse. NOW. Y'stupid bint!"

The man made to tear her bag off her shoulder but the last person Hermione expected to interfere did, the Ministry Executioner casting the Body-Bind Curse on the mugger with a sneer.

"I actually wanted to cut you up a bit – see if you'd bleed mud or not – but this filthy muggle ruined my plans," Macnair stood in silence for a moment, "Maybe I should just Imperius him to bludgeon you to death or rape you, though that's more Mulciber's thing and you'd probably enjoy it, the filthy mudblood whore that you are."

Dark eyes looked at her and Macnair seemed to change his mind when he realized the terror his off-hand comment wrought.

"On the other hand," he sneered, "maybe I should see why this would be Mulciber's favorite method of torture and killing."

He lifted his wand and pointed at the mugger again.

Hermione, shocked out of her frozen state at the utterance of an Unforgivable spell being cast, scrambled for her wand.

"Expelliarmus!" she aimed at the muscular wizard.

Macnair was shoved against the wall of the alley but kept a tight grip on his wand, gaining a glint of actual murder in his eyes. "How dare a mudblood bitch—"

Hermione took a step back, a breathless gasp of fear escaping – not even able to properly whimper – as the fight or flight instinct finally decided on flight. She twisted toward the only way she could run in the alley, the side unblocked by the mugger.

"SECTUMSEMPRA!"

BANG! BANG! BANG!

The fourteen year old cried out as the force of the spell clipped her shoulder and spun her to slam against the side of a wall. Momentum brought her to face the men again and a shell-shocked Hermione could only witness what happened next, barely able to comprehend the situation with the burning pain down her arm and mid-back.

Macnair looked slightly shocked, staring down at his chest, his free hand delicately touching one of the splotches that bloomed across the black robes. He staggered as he turned around, leaning against a wall of the alleyway, revealing the mugger with his still smoking pistol aimed at Macnair.

The dark wizard raised his wand…

"Avada Kedavra!"

BANG!

The green of the Killing Curse and the pistol slide moving – the spent case of the bullet falling to the dirty floor the same time as the body of the mugger and the jerking of Macnair's head before he slumped against the wall to slowly slide down the floor.

All was silent except for Hermione's heart beats that echoed in her ears as she breathed harshly.

She was stupefied for a moment before realizing she had been really lucky, a small sob escaping her in quiet relief of not dying or being left to a fate worse than death. Hermione turned her head and delicately assessed the damage of what she mentally translated to be a flesh-cutting curse of some type, calming down some more when she saw the thick strap of her sling bag blunted the potential damage. Still, the cut was deep enough to need stitches and her bag was another victim of this entire debacle.

Hermione stood up – a bit of a difficulty without the aid of her arms – with a plan of retrieving her bag and finding a way out of wherever nook and cranny she was taking up her entire thoughts. She was still in denial over seeing two men kill each other in front of her and that there were two fresh corpses barely meters away.

A deep chuckle echoed around the dark alley, causing bushy ash-brown hair to whip around as the girl reflexively sought out its source. Mentally, she let out a few epithets as the deep shadows that had made it difficult for her to find her bag in the moonlight gave her the same difficulty finding the origins of the laughter.

It was the sound of moving liquid that made Hermione turn her toward the corpses with dread, despite every part of her telling her not to and to just forget her bag and _run away_.

He was a tall man dressed in Victorian period fashion – automatically making him magical – except he wore a wide-brimmed fedora instead of a top hat, and round safety goggles with yellow-shaded lenses that Elton John would be proud of and a pureblood wouldn't be caught dead in.

Her eyes trailed downwards, to the source of the noise and saw the pool of blood he stood at the center of originating from the two dead men. It was as if the blood was being pulled out of the cadavers and being absorbed into the stranger.

As the observation hit her, Hermione ignored the pain in her right arm as she pointed her blood slicked wand at the newcomer. Blood, any magic that had to do with blood, well she could only think of vampires and extremely dark wizards that were myth and legend in the _magical world _itself.

"The full moon is bright tonight, isn't it?" his head tilted up and the mentioned moonlight revealed his wide grin.

And his prominent, sharp, canines.

Hermione whimpered, the roller coaster series of events she went through ringing her dry of that Gryffindor courage that got her into the House of Lions; she stumbled back blindly, opening her mouth in a silent cry of excruciating pain as her injured back hit a barrier, Hermione glancing back to see a stack of large crates blocking her.

She screamed when she looked back toward the dangerous male, not wanting to set her gaze away from such a predator for more than a moment, only to find him right before her.

The fourteen year old normally wouldn't panic (which was why her male friends thought her crazy – not just because of her studying ethics) but she was bleeding and she was female, which was more than enough to render vampires into an uncontrolled blood-frenzy. After Lupin this past school year, she had looked up extensively on vampires (for werewolves and vampires went hand-in-hand being mortal enemies with the same food source and similar origins) and found blood of the opposite sex – virgins even better – had the same effect as the full moon did to werewolves.

There would be no talking her way out of this, since the vampire wouldn't listen – if he was the type inclined to, in the first place.

"Hello little witch," his proximity only allowed her to better see his wide, toothy grin; his smile almost like a pearly white crescent in the darkness.

Her mouth opened and closed, unable to recall the Sunbeam Spell even when her life (and potentially chastity) truly, literally counted on it.

The shades slipped down, revealing mesmerizing, bright crimson eyes framed by long black eyelashes. Hermione felt the wand in her hand angling itself upwards, taking all her strength to look down and stare at the white-gloved hand shifting the wand away from him by the tip of the instrument.

She couldn't take her eyes away from the several-layered seal printed on the glove, not until he bent his head to the level of the wand and his tongue darted out to lick up its length, from her thumb till where his fingers held the wand.

"You're going to bleed to death if you don't fix yourself, witch, since there's dark magic in your wound that prevents healing," the vampire stated in an odd, not-accent with his ever-present smile.

His eyes went from her own to the seals she had been staring at.

"My master forbids me from feeding on humans…"

Hermione opened her mouth—

"…but Integral Hellsing is a rather religious young woman and the witch-hunts of the past suggests they don't consider us human…"

His grin darkened.

Hermione snapped, screaming and struggling to get away when she realized the implications of the surname and the mention of the witchcraft trials that managed to kill over fifty-thousand innocent muggles due to religious crusade and fanatics: his identity and that heretics weren't safe from him as prey.

"'Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live', as the translation goes…"

And she sobbed as his teeth sank into the crook of her neck, his other hand having knotted into her hair and forced her head to one side. It was the most excruciatingly painful experience ever, feeling as if her soul was dragged out with her blood, like claws scraping her insides for every bit that made her living. Something she had never been aware of existing before seemed to unravel, utterly destroyed by his bite.

The girl was suddenly bereft from feeling, collapsing against the stacked crates before her legs crumpled and all the brunette could do was stare at the glowing orb in the sky, the Man in the Moon staring back at her; a numbness pervading her body and mind.

Someone was laughing.

Hermione blinked, the sound getting clearer as she concentrated on that instead of the ringing in her ears, some small part of her realizing that she was not dead and was still capable of higher thought.

The origin of the laugh was the red-clad vampire.

He abruptly stopped. "I should have known; the same hair… the eye shape…"

His stare unnerved her and, when he reached toward her with one of his gloved hands, it was the last straw; Hermione panicked, the power within her reacted, a spectacular display of emotionally-charged magic apparating the girl away from the alleyway to appear a block away from her house.

The brunette stumbled forward, hands on the pavement while her wand dug into her right hand. She was finally away from her Mast— no, from _Him_ but his voice still echoed a name in her mind as she reappeared onto the thankfully empty residential street.

'_Lisa…_'

Was she, a fourteen year old Hogwart's student, able to keep the most infamous – _dangerous_ – vampire that was over half a millenia old from catching her?

Is it even feasible to run away from Dracula?

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><p>End Notes: Some Castlevania mythos is meshed in, you can see, and this will <em>eventually<em> be Alucard/Hermione (still a far, _far_ way to go) but there'd probably be some UST to tide one over throughout. Rating may or may not go up considering it's a Hellsing crossover and violence and gore is practically synonymous with the title.

Not beta'd; feel free to point out any mistakes I missed.


	2. Rash Hand in Evil Hour

**Disclaimer:** Alucard is such a messy eater. The Weasleys are so quaint with their lack of knowledge regarding 'muggle' things. I love to torture Hermione even though she's not mine. She and Harry Potter characters/world are Rowling's.

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><p><strong>Bite To Eat<strong>

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><p>Hermione managed to stumble up to her room without waking her parents, flinching at shadows and the slightest noise. Closing the door slowly when she was tempted to slam it shut, Hermione flicked the light switch on and warily looked around her revealed bedroom before finally releasing a shaky breath.<p>

The girl glanced down at her hands, one of which still held her vinewood wand in a death-grip, the light-brown wood stained almost black from blood. Her hands started to shake as she looked at the sleeve of her thin shirt, the original light-blue eclipsed by the dried blood. Hermione didn't feel the pain of the wound on her shoulder and back or the side of her neck, though; all she could feel was her harsh breathing and a state of mindless panic.

She went into her en-suite bathroom, turning the light on and mentally recoiling when she saw her state in the mirror. Her hair was wild, flecked with specks of blood, and slightly lopsided, some of it having been the victim of the cutting curse. An entire side of her shirt was dyed with her blood, the sleeve revealing bare shoulder and was only hanging on by several inches of fabric. Almost hyperventilating, she checked her back – it was ominously unmarred.

A small gasp.

The girl had been feeling out of sorts, but had tried not to think. Tried to explain it away through the trial she had been put through. Hermione, for once, cursed her bookishness when she noticed that the panic she felt was missing her heartbeat banging against her eardrums. But, while it looked like she had lost a lot of blood, she did not have a pasty-white pallor and, while the sight of her mangled neck left her faint, it was a good sign the bite wound was still there. Desperately, she felt for her own pulse, dropping her wand into the sink and moving her fingers to the unmarred side of her neck when she had trouble with her wrist.

The reassuring tap of blood pulsing under her skin was felt against her fingertips.

Hermione mentally recited what she had read of vampires, concentrating on the fact that vampire bites may be incurable; she hoped her case was the small percentage that infection didn't take place.

Taking off her clothing and hiding it in the cabinet under the sink so her mother wouldn't stumble upon them, she showered before carefully sterilizing her neck wound. Moving herself back to her bedroom, she closed the lights and scrambled under her summer blanket, lying on her bed and completely alert.

She was away from that alley. She was home. She was safe.

But, she couldn't shake the feeling that, just beyond the shadows, she was being watched, even though Hermione knew it was more than likely the after-affects of shock still clinging to her. Finally, the teen was able to calm down and eventually fall asleep after repeating Psalms under her breath, something she hadn't read since she was a little girl, considering her family were non-practicing Protestants.

Hermione would wait till the morning to contemplate her situation, not wanting to think of the chances of Him chasing her till the ends of the earth to finish what was started in that alleyway.

And the girl fell asleep to the sounds of low and dark chuckles that would haunt her dreams of black and red, only for morning to come and Hermione to not remember any of it.

The early birdsong brought Hermione out of her slumber, the girl rubbing her neck with a groan as she shifted and all her stiff muscles clambered for attention. She squinted at the morning sunlight dowsing her bed from the open window, before her eyes widened as she registered the smoothness of the skin under her fingers and mentally recalled the side she touched was the side He had bitten. As soon as the thought came, she made a small squeak and rolled off her bed and away from the rays of morning light.

Both her hands cautiously felt around her neck as her gaze stuck to her bed haloed by sunlight. Dissatisfied and disbelieving, she headed into her bathroom, only to receive visual proof that messy bite wound had healed over without a scar – as if it had never been there.

Hermione swallowed thickly. It couldn't be true. She wasn't— She's not—

Abruptly spinning and striding back to her bed, she carefully inched her hand under a ray of sunlight. Her fingertips warmed but did not hurt or burn and Hermione took a step forward to expose more of her skin, calming slightly when she didn't reject the sun, until her bare foot knocked into something.

The fourteen year old reflexively moved to see what she hit, considering she kept her room very tidy most of the time, when she caught sight of something dark in her peripheral vision. Aborting her glance downwards, she instead moved her eyes to look at her bedside table and saw a worn black book with a stalk of tiny white flowers laid across the cover.

She leaned closer, her vision still slightly hazy from sleep, and saw the flowers were _Leucojum aestivum_, Summer Snowflake. The aged book had a bit of old lace – once black but had faded to gray – tucked between pages like a bookmark, the cover and spine unmarked. Moving aside the single stalk of flowers, she slowly opened the book (careful because of its age), glanced at the foreign language and seeing it was hand-written before recoiling as she realized it was Romanian.

Backing away quickly like the journal was diseased, her heel hit something and she spun to look down, swallowing a scream as she saw the blood-flecked sling bag she had left back in that alleyway leaning innocently against the side of her bed.

Hermione turned in place, frantically looking around her room as if expecting Him to be standing innocuously in a corner. She was alone but she hugged herself, a feeling of unknown terror arising; in order for these items to be left in her room, _He_ must have been in here last night, when she was sleeping.

When her parents were sleeping right down the hallway.

The brunette took another glance at the journal and flower before letting out a whimper.

Knock, knock.

Hermione screamed.

"Ah— Hermione?" her mother's voice was heard on the other side of the door, concerned. "Are you alright?"

The girl kicked the bloody bag under her bed and tried to calm down as she turned her attention to her mom on the other side of the door to her bedroom; it had just been her mother checking up on her.

"Yes, yes! Sorry, your knocking surprised me."

"May I come in?"

Hermione hesitated.

There was a muffled call from her father saying the coffee was ready.

"Alright, dear!" her mother replied back. "Did you eat dinner last night, Hermione? Your father and I need to head to work early because of paperwork but there are leftovers in the fridge and breakfast will be on the island."

Hermione stared at her door. If she really wasn't human anymore – even if she was – she couldn't stay here and endanger her parents. He was here last night, in her room, and, what if the worst case scenario came to be and she was a vampire? What if _she_ hurt her parents because she couldn't control her hunger? She glanced back at the black journal, its presence like a eight-hundred pound gorilla in the room, before closing her eyes and biting her lip.

"Mum, actually, I realized that I'm very behind my studies when I went to buy books in Diagon Alley yesterday and OWL year is coming in just a year. I was thinking about spending the rest of the summer renting a room in the Leaky Cauldron so I can have access to Diagon Alley everyday; it'd be easier than making the trip into central London all the time. Harry stayed there for a few weeks last year, and I think it'll be cheaper in the long run, considering I wouldn't need to buy the books every time and a normal bookstore is right outside, so I can keep up with non-magical subjects too."

The fourteen year old didn't like to lie but she wasn't a _bad_ liar either, especially considering Jean Granger couldn't see Hermione's face – which had difficulty matching appropriate expressions with her words in the processing of lying.

There was a long silence on the other side of the door before her mother inquired, "Are you sure? We didn't go on holiday this summer so we have the funds for it but you're a bit young…"

"I've stayed home alone plenty of times, Mum," Hermione reasoned as she went to her closet and started tossing a couple of changes of clothing on her bed. The school trunk was opened and clothing tossed in hastily, most of the contents already packed considering she lived in the muggle world and sometimes had to hide her magical studies when family visited.

"Do you need one of us to drop you off?"

"No, thank you, go ahead to work."

After a minute, Jean Granger headed downstairs after remarking about leaving money beside her share of breakfast, leaving Hermione to fish the sling bag out from under her bed. She went into her bathroom, collecting her toiletries and her ruined clothing from last night before placing the bloodied items in her trunk to be gotten rid of once she had the chance.

As she waited to hear the sound of the front door closing, signaling her parents left and it was safe to leave her room, she considered whether she should go to Charing Cross Road by taxi (considering her trunk) or by public transportation (as she usually did). Hermione eventually decided to get a taxi, not because of transporting her school trunk, but because she'd encounter less people during the trip and one victim was better than a dozen.

And Hermione buried her face into her hands, crying at her conclusion that a single death by her own hands was alright at all; she despaired.

Awhile later, Hermione wiped her face of tears and left her room with her school trunk, dropping the luggage in front of the door of the library (converted from the extra bedroom) to look up the phone number for a taxi company in the business directory. Jotting down the number listed in the yellow pages, the fourteen year old stood up and made to head downstairs before pausing.

Her hands formed into fists, the scrap of paper in her hand wrinkling as logic won over her want to just push it out of her mind. Before she could hesitate anymore, Hermione headed toward a particular shelf in the library and pulled out a book, leaving the room and tossing Bram Stoker's Dracula into her trunk as if the muggle hardback was cursed.

Carrying the trunk down to the kitchen quickly, Hermione used the phone to call for a car before turning her attention to the items on the kitchen island. Next to the bowl of porridge and glass of milk was a note with several banknotes and a cheque for five-hundred pounds.

Reading the written note from her mother, Hermione pocketed the money before opening her trunk again to place the cheque with her Gringotts key, taking the opportunity to bury the book taken from the library under several items of clothing. Returning her attention to the breakfast her parents had set out for her, Hermione stared.

She honestly didn't feel hungry – actually, she was vaguely nauseous. Nonetheless, not feeling hunger didn't mean she did not need to eat, something she knew from her extensive studying habits, especially from last year with the time-turner. Hermione made the decision to take the time before the taxi arrived to at least force down a couple spoonfuls of porridge and took a step toward the bowl and spoon.

'I wouldn't do that if I were you,' His voice said.

Hermione choked on a scream as she turned her head left and right, expecting a tall red-clad form in the airy kitchen, turning around and looking behind her.

'We're restricted to a… liquid diet,' He chuckled in dark amusement.

The fourteen year old shook slightly; she was alone in the kitchen.

'Come to me, Lisa. I will teach you the ways of a nosferatu. You will grow to be a No-Life Queen—'

"No!" Hermione denied, wild eyes spinning around the corners of the kitchen before abruptly lunging for the glass of milk and gulping it down. It was an act of defiance; He had said a liquid diet but milk was liquid and she refused to even contemplate what He suggested she change her diet to include.

She was going crazy, hearing Him. Hermione had never heard of vampires having the ability of telepathy in her readings, so the only explanation is the stress of last night causing her to hallucinate. Accidental magic did a lot of things, and it was probably her terror of her precarious situation being projected from her subconscious. It had just taken His voice since _He_ represented the worst-case scenario in her mind.

'You're not crazy,' He said, amused. 'You have to face the truth sometime, Lisa.'

Hermione brought her hands up to her ears, shaking her head frantically. She said "No" like a litany, not wanting to hear His words.

'You can't run away forever…'

There was the sound of a car horn and Hermione bolted from the airy kitchen, leaving an untouched bowl of porridge and no signs that something as nefarious as the Vampire King had been having a conversation there at all; it had all happened in her head, after all.

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><p>August 22nd, 1994<p>

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><p>When she was dropped off at Charing Cross Road, Hermione headed immediately toward the Leaky Cauldron with Crookshanks trotting beside her. Bless the half-kneazle; he had been waiting at the front door, somehow managing to have his blanket beside him, when Hermione had completely forgotten about Crookshanks since last night.<p>

Upon entry to the pub, the girl went up to Tom the barkeeper and paid for a room for the night, carrying her trunk up the staircase and into her room, Crookshanks entering first, before she closed the door and tried to calm down. Taking her wand out from her luggage, she spelled the door and window before sitting heavily onto the comfortable bed.

Hermione glanced down as her cat wound himself around her legs, the girl lifting the big tabby onto her lap and snuggling into him like a teddy bear. "Oh Crookshanks, I don't know what to do."

The fourteen year old stayed at the Leaky for five days, during which she cautiously made sure she wouldn't randomly attack someone. Thankfully, she didn't have any urge to bite any wizard's neck, but she didn't want to get Hungry enough to lose control. So, she spent most of her days trying to gain a resemblance of normalcy, not wanting to give up her life as regular Hermione Granger unless she had no choice at all.

At that point, she had been resigned to the truth that she had changed; it had been hard to ignore the change to her teeth, after all. Hermione had been biting her lip before almost immediately yelping at the pain, checking in a mirror after and discovering that her previous rabbit teeth had changed into a perfect set of pearly-whites with the addition of sharper canines. The girl had grown a set of petite fangs when her previous canines had been relatively blunt. It had taken her most of the week to break the habit of worrying her bottom lip with her teeth.

She absolutely refused to drink blood, though, if she could live on something else, and had taken to drinking double the dose of a nutritive potion she found in The Healer's Helpmate after cross-referencing several other books to make sure she didn't accidentally poison herself with new potential allergies to potions ingredients. Hermione wasn't exactly sure what was legend and fact, considering she was able to wear her silver cross necklace without a problem, but she did know that she really couldn't keep down solid food and the smell of garlic was _pungent_. She had read that Blood-Replenishing Potions can be taken by vampires to stave off their Hunger but she thought it was safest to cut out any blood from her diet, the Blood-Replenishing Potion having several types of animal blood in the ingredients list.

On Friday morning, there had been a knock on her room door. Hermione paused from reading a textbook and slowly set the book on the bed, the wand that had been set next to her grabbed with a hand.

Tom had come up with the breakfast that was part of the room's price already, and the platter contents had been vanished like all the others after the disaster on the first morning when she attempted to eat a bite of toast.

"Who is it?" she called as she got off the made bed.

"Hermione, it's me, your father."

Blinking, Hermione tucked her wand up her sleeve before opening the door. "Dad? What are you doing here?"

He had a slightly bemused face as he held something in his hand, walking into the room and surveying where Hermione had been staying the past few days. "You received a letter in the mail from your friend, Ron's, mother. I hope you don't mind your mother and I opening it beforehand, considering it was also addressed to us."

Hermione took the offered envelope, brows quirking when she noticed the stamps that covered the front, leaving only tiny spaces for the addresses of the sender and recipients. She took out the letter and started reading about the Weasleys managing to get tickets to the Quidditch World Cup and invited her to go with them.

"I have to head to work now but your mother and I give our permission for you to go if you want. The Weasleys are a nice family, if rather a bit," he smiled, "oblivious toward non-magical life."

The teen said her good-byes to her father before closing the door to her room and sitting on the edge of the bed, letter and stamp-covered envelope in hand.

She caught herself before she could bite her lip, instead raking her fingers through her hair.

The past couple of days she had strived to continue her life uninterrupted and she hadn't any urges to make any witch or wizard a snack. She was hesitant to accept but, Hermione would meet them anyway on the first Sunday of September at King's Cross _when_ she went to Hogwarts for the year. And it was the thought of Hogwarts that had Hermione make her decision over any fears or anxiety she had with being around others.

Hermione wasn't really a Quidditch enthusiast but, apparently, she was going to stay with the Weasleys for the rest of the summer and go to the Quidditch World Cup.

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><p>End Notes: Argh, the last section was sooooo bad! Sorry guys but I promise the next chapter would be longer AND better, I just wanted to post this before it sat there any longer. Oh yeah, this is timeline compliant for both series, meaning Integra's about two years older than Hermione – this is since I really don't want to tackle AlucardIntegra romance in this story; poor Hermione already has enough to handle.

Opinions and pointing out any grammar mistakes I missed are welcome and appreciated; I try to reply to all reviews I receive.


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